


Wrong Until You Make It Right

by gutwenching



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Begging, Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, Cussing, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, I accidentally wrote a 90s romcom, Implied/Referenced Abuse, NSFW, Penis In Vagina Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Porn With Plot, Smut, and i regret nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutwenching/pseuds/gutwenching
Summary: Hi,” he greets her. “You’re a heavy sleeper.”“It’s four in the morning.”





	Wrong Until You Make It Right

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to incorporate 80s gender expectations in the story while also keeping true to Billy's personality. I hope it translated!

Billy hates a lot of things. Some are small, probably better classified as irritations really. Gone as soon as they come, but always bubbling at the surface.

And so, he despises it when his socks get wet, or when he wants to have cereal and it turns out there is no milk left in the fridge. Billy hates it when his car runs out of gas quicker than anticipated, when Max goes in his room without his permission, when someone interrupts him while speaking.

Other matters are more persistent, daily reminders of everything that is wrong in his life.

For one, Billy hates when anyone, anyone who isn’t him, refers to Maxime as his sister. Billy hates how Max made friends, _real_ friends, easier and a lot faster than he did in this town he has to dub home from now on. Billy hates that the nearest beach is a two hour drive away. Billy hates thinking about the past too, but he can’t help the drifting fragments of reminiscence, a kaleidoscope of nostalgia entering his mind at the most inconvenient of times. It has happened a lot, recently. A scent that reminds him of his _real_ home, or a record he hasn’t heard in so long, it catapults him back in the past with no warning, and suddenly he is that same boy from so many summers ago. Scared and alone and vulnerable.

Billy hates it when the man who fathered him talks down on him, but how powerless he is against the endless unwanted handouts of black, blue and purple, and hurtful terminologies hurled his way truly boils his blood. Neil speaks of a lack of respect when Billy attempts at defending himself, and Billy wonders why the man that made his mother forcedly leave them behind deserves any respect at all.

But most of all, Billy hates taking pity on himself.

-

For a moment, he considers ripping his cotton white shirt to bits to hide the blood stains, but she will wonder what happened, so he simply lets it be. Besides, she will notice his bruised cheek and as far as he can tell, his nose is still dripping deep red. Instead, he picks up another pebble and flings it towards the unlit second floor window. It makes a soft ticking noise against the glass, but nothing happens. No movement. A few pebbles later and the room hidden behind the window lights up. A gentle smile adorns his plump lips when Carmen appears in the window in midnight blue, silk pajamas. She blinks a few times, to make sure this isn’t another one of her rather vivid dreams, then opens up the window.

“Hi,” he greets her. “You’re a heavy sleeper.”

“It’s four in the morning,” she replies, examining his ragged appearance from top to bottom. Blood is trickling down his nose, his cheek a dark shade of purple mixed with red and his left eye appears swollen. The color of his white shirt that clings to his torso contrasts starkly with the dried up blood stain in the middle of it, and the cotton top is half untucked from his tight, blue jeans. “You could’ve shattered my window.”

“I thought we could go for a drive,” he offers, as if he hadn’t heard the accusing tone hiding in her words, and he flashes her an alluring smile at an attempt to sweeten the deal. As if immune, her brows crease in a harsh frown that takes over her entire face.

“Right now? If my dad finds out he’ll send a search party after me,” This time, it’s Billy who knits his brows together. He had forgotten the occasional inconveniences that come with dating the mayor’s daughter, the most important one being Larry Kline’s unawareness - and most likely disapproval if he _did_ know - of Billy’s existence in his daughter’s life.

“Leave a note,” he suggests. It’s a weak proposition, they both know it, but she nods regardless of that fact and disappears from his view. When she reappears in the windowsill, she has swapped her silk pajamas for acid washed jeans and a grey IU Bloomington sweater. She tosses her school bag from the window first, before climbing down herself.

“Going for a jog. Be right back,” she quotes her left behind note for her parents to find with a soft smile, and Billy snickers.

“The good girl has derailed, hm?” he teases, taking hold of her hips and pulling her flush against him for a soft, short collision of lips. Carmen stifles a laugh against him, her arms cased around his neck.

“I stopped being a good girl when I first met you,” she reflects his words. “If anything, this is your fault. If it wasn’t for you and your pebbles, I could still be up there getting a fair amount of shut eye being the good, innocent girl my daddy expects me to be.”

“But what would be the fun in that? Now you get to spend time with me,” he sends her a silky smooth smirk and she can barely holds back from an eyeroll, his suaveness not working on her like it works on the middle aged women lounging next to the pool.

“Next time you dare wake me up, I’m going to start charging you.”

-

Carmen rolls the windows of his car down and inhales the fresh morning air, a welcoming coolness against her heated, still sleepy skin. It smells of dew and newly cut grass and she smiles, aware that, even though it may bring her some trouble once she gets home, today with Billy would be a memory she’d cherish long after the sun had risen a thousand times over again.

“Where are we going?” she asks him, knowing the answer already before the words have left her mouth or Billy has had the chance to reply. She’s packed her bathing suit for a reason.

“The beach,” is Billy’s curt and expected reply, and she turns away from the rolled down window of his Camaro to look at the boy she loves. His nose has stopped bleeding, but the evidence is still there.

“I brought some things. To clean you up,” Carmen clarifies. He white knuckles the steering wheel tighter, his navy eyes never diverting from the concrete road ahead. She knows how much he hates talking about the things taking place with his father, which is why she in turns hates bringing it up. He gets defensive and says things he doesn’t mean.

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“If we arrive like this at the beach, we might scare some kids off,” she attempts to lighten the mood, tensely biting the inside of her cheek. God, she wants to be there for him, to take care of him, but he so rarely allows it. “You know, if you would want to talk about what happened…”

“I don’t,” he interrupts her with a cruel snarl. “If I did, I’d bring it up myself. I don’t need you to go all mother Goose on me!”

“Billy, I don’t have any ill intentions. You should know that by now,” she tries to reason with him again, painted black fingertips digging holes in the fabric of her acid washed jeans.

“Of course you don’t. Instead, you just keep nagging, on and on and _fucking_ on,” She figures his words could hurt her, had he truly meant them. Instead, she hears his father talking which somehow makes the ache worse.

“I see right through you, Billy. Have you ever considered that talking about the things that hurt you might help you deal with them? You don’t need to take your anger out on me! It’s misplaced and unfair,” her cheeks burn in rage now, her blazing chocolate brown eyes meeting his flaming navy ones in the limited space of his car. He hits the brake pedal so abruptly that she’s relieved she remembered to wear a seatbelt.

“We’re in the middle of the road. You can’t just park here,” she points out, hands waving vaguely around to the endless rows of trees and the concrete road stretching miles ahead of them.

“Look at me, Carmen,” and she does, taking in tired eyes, a bloodied nose and a bruised cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s hard for me. To talk about my father. I don’t want you to view me as weak,” Her eyes soften and she nods, unbuckling her seatbelt to get closer to him, his impromptu parking lot forgotten. She cups his cheek, the one undamaged, then softly presses her pink lips against his.

“I won’t force you to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. But I’m always here,” and then that’s that. She cleans off the blood from under his nose with a wet wipe in silence, presses a cold beer can against his cheek and they don’t mention it anymore. He’ll come around eventually, when he feels it’s time, the both of them know it.

“Thank you,” he clears his throat and observes his now clean face in the small rear view mirror. He winks at her through the reflection, lighting a cigarette. “Back to my handsome self.”

“Your words, not mine,” he blows smoke into her face as a response, and she feels like giving him a good whack for it, but decides against it.

“You’re an idiot,” she resorts to instead. He gives her a smile, a drunk and lazy one with his eyes half closed, one that shows her all his pearly whites. It’s soft and lovely and doesn’t fit his attitude one bit, and God, it’s confusing, the white hot anger that transitions into a seemingly bottomless ocean of undying love from her side. She wonders if love is really blind, like they say it is. It has to be, she concludes, with the way she feels for him.

“You love me for it,” he hangs his head back and takes a swig of the cheap supermarket beer that was meant as an impromptu ice pack, taking a drag of his cigarette after. She looks away, the rising sun highlighting the dark strands of her hair in a soft, red radiance, Billy notices.

“Do not,” she protests, no, _lies,_ under her breath, but he just chuckles with his head thrown back.

“Prove it,” he challenges her, any and all trace of his previous hurt and anger gone from his face. All that’s left now is a playful twinkle in his eyes and something else, something she’s seen in his eyes countless of times before.

“Fine,” she speaks, reaching over to undo his seatbelt as she had done with her own a few moments ago. “Move the seat back.”

His dark eyebrows shoot up so far she thinks they might disappear in his hairline, but he moves the seat back as far as he can without any further protest. She looks at him through thick lashes, making sure to put on a show as she slides off her leather seat in between his long, spread open legs. It’s uncomfortable, the steering wheel pokes in her back, but she forgets it as soon as she notices Billy’s ocean eyes are on her.

“I like you for other things,” she says, nuzzling his already evident arousal with her cheek, her hand spread on his thigh. “These tight jeans, for example. I’m a big fan of those.”

She traces the outline of his hard cock through said jeans with her index finger, and then again, with her tongue, and he exhales a shaky breath through his nose, realizing what her plan is.

“The best thing about these jeans,” he starts, seizing her chin with his index finger so their eyes meet when he brings his thumb to her lips and she _sucks_ , “is that they come off.”

He doesn’t need to tell her twice, her fingers make their way to the zipper of his blue jeans, all while Billy thrusts his thumb deeper down her throat. Soft circles with her tongue have his mind wander places, and God, he doesn’t want to wait any longer, he needs his cock in between her soft, pink lips.

“You’re too eager for your own good,” she accuses him around his thumb, and it’s only then that he realizes his fingers are tangled in her brown locks in an impatient grasp. He loosens his grip and sends her an apologetic smile, one she ignores as she, just as eager, tugs on his zipper until his jeans are loose. He lifts his hip up and she pulls his jeans, together with his boxers, down his legs.

His cock juts up against his stomach, and oh, holy mother of God, the way she looks at him doesn’t minimalize the throbbing one bit.

“This is another part of you I particularly like,” she licks her lips and he wonders if she has any idea what that does to him. “He’s always happy to see me.”

The leather of the seat squeaks beneath him as he wordlessly drives his hips up to her mouth, cock hard and heavy and so damn needy. Fuck, she was right. He was too eager for his own good. Luckily, it didn’t seem to bother her this time and her lips parted for him, leaving openmouthed kisses across the length of him. Her warm, little tongue swirls around the head of his cock and his chest feels god damned heavy.

“Carmen,” he breathes heavily, loving the way her mouth feels around him but fuck, he needs more, deeper, faster. “Please, baby.”

Her lips let go of his length with a soft pop, and he shudders involuntarily at the loss of contact and cool contrast with the cold of the air around them, sending an accusing look her way.

“Another thing I like about you is when you beg for me,” before his mind has the time to comprehend the meaning of her words, she takes him, all of him, and he feels like he can die a happy man right there and then. His hand tightly wrapped around her throat and with every firm suck he can feel his cock going down.

“You are so good to me baby,” he gasps, fisting her long locks in his tight grip, while her tongue makes it way across a thick vein on the side of his erect cock. His hips twitch violently as he thinks about coming down her throat, choking her but she’d swallow all of it, maybe some escaping her mouth and trickling down her chin, and-

“I’ll come if you don’t stop,” he warns her, throwing his head back against the headrest, but she just smiles around his cock and scrapes her painted black nail over his balls with glee. He quite literally might’ve died and gone to heaven. And then he remembers. _When you beg for me._

“F-Fuck, fucking fuck! Please, please, _please_ ,” finally, her lips let him go and so, he lets go of her hair. Her smile is wild and her eyes seem more sparkly than he’s ever seen before.

“You were never a good girl,” he speaks, recalling their conversation from earlier that morning. “No good girl can do _that_ with her mouth.”

A laugh bubbling at the back of her throat escapes her as she ignores the stiffness in her back, neck and legs as she gets up to place herself in his lap.

“A good girl with an even better teacher might, Mr. Hargrove,” she whispers in his ear, no longer able to or wanting to ignore the slickness between her thighs. He huffs, her acid washed jeans a rougher material than he’d wish to feel against him.

“Let me take care of you now, hm?” he urges, his fingertips disappearing into her waistband. They flutter against the sensitive skin of her stomach and a whimper escapes her before she can hold it back. He undoes the button of her jeans, sliding the fabric down her soft legs until she’s left in nothing but skimpy black panties. He curses under his breath.

“You’re the devil disguised as an angel,” he dubs her, a title she accepts with a quiet giggle. Her giggle fades away just as quickly as it came when Billy moves her panties to the side and aims straight for her most sensitive spot. His thumb traces lazy circles around her clit, shuddering breaths leaving her throat. She covers his neck in hickeys, reminders of this day, reminders of how good he made her feel.

“Fuck me,” she pleads into the warm skin of his neck, no longer able to stop thinking about anything else besides him inside of her. No need for her to ask more than once.

“Luckily for you, I won’t have you beg for me,” he speaks as he lines himself up with her warm heat. “This time.”

He enters her with one swift movement, followed by a gasp, and she can’t tell if it’s him that’s gasping, or her. All she knows that he’s inside her and he’s thick and hard and warm and he fills her to the brim. His hands are warm on her lips, sure to leave bruises she’d cherish until they fade.

“You fit so nice and tight around me, you know that?” He gently breathes into her ear, helping her hips settle for a rhythm he could bare so he wouldn’t empty himself into her in one go. It’s true what he tells her, she fits around him like she was made for it, so tight that it almost hurts.

“Billy,” she whimpers, hips meeting in shocking motions. His rings are cold against her tummy when he lowers his fingers near her clit again, and even though he hasn’t touched her yet, she feels like she might combust.

“Wanna know another thing I love about you?” She struggles to let the words fall from her lips, but fuck, he is worth every last bit of energy she stores in her bones. She was so close to the edge and he had no problem driving her there. Her cunt clenches tightly around the base of his cock, so close now that his fingers circle hard and rough patterns around her clit, just the way she likes it.

“I love it,” his breathing is irregular. “ _So much_ ,” his hips thrust up inside her in a tempo so fast that she thinks she might die. “When you come inside me.”

And that’s it, what sends the both of them over the edge. He releases inside of her, balls emptying in a jittery motion. She comes down too, at the same time as him. She clenches around him, whispering words into his ear he’s never heard leave her mouth before and God, he wasn’t about to start complaining now.

Billy hates a lot of things, but she is far from being one of them.


End file.
